


The Only Sane Elf

by luckysilverbell



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckysilverbell/pseuds/luckysilverbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this prompt on the Hobbit kink meme:</p>
<p>Can I get Elrond being the only genre savvy person in a horror movie? Like, everyone being all "Oh, look! A creepy, abandoned asylum! Let's check it out!" and Elrond being all "Yeah, no. Bad idea."</p>
<p>Later chapters inspired by 'Hell No: The Sensible Horror Film'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Begins

While he would never admit it out of simple modesty, Elrond considered himself the smartest person in his circle of acquaintances. Not to imply that all of them were stupid—quite the opposite, actually.   
  
Gandalf was brilliant. A pragmatic strategist through and through. He was a bit on the impulsive side, and had an unfortunate tendency to think with his heart and not his head. But stupid? No, not by a long shot.  
  
Thorin wasn’t stupid either. He was nowhere near as smart as Gandalf, but he had a strange, indescribable charisma about him that made him a natural leader. And he was good at it, for the most part. But where Gandalf had a penchant for thinking with his heart, Thorin had a penchant for not thinking  _at all._  The dwarf could devise an infallible battle plan on the spot with ease, but actually sticking to the plan and not doing something idiotic between point A and point B was practically impossible. Oh, and he was crazy as fuck, which didn’t really help matters.  
  
Balin was easily the most sensible of the group, but a bit too easily swayed by Thorin’s spur-of-the-moment decisions for Elrond’s liking. Well, to be fair, Thorin was the King, and Balin didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, but really. How hard was it to speak up and say “Hey, bad idea!” when Thorin’s antics got out of hand?  
  
Fíli and Kíli were a different story entirely. Both showed signs of intelligence that would develop somewhere down the road—Fíli more so than his younger brother—but for the present, they were morons. Sure, they were smart enough, but both seemed to have inherited the unfortunate trait of forgetting to think from their Uncle.  
  
And then there was Bilbo. Bilbo was… naïve. Sheltered. In all fairness, the hobbit had never left the Shire in his life, so a bit of immaturity in the face of the rest of Middle Earth’s problems was to be expected. And he caught on rather quickly, so Elrond really couldn’t fault him for that. Now, the whole “I’m not afraid of Thorin” thing wasn’t Bilbo’s smartest move, and couldn’t be chalked up to naïveté. But all things considered, Bilbo wasn’t an idiot.  
  
Which really left Elrond scratching his head at the antics of Gandalf and the Company. He hadn’t been surprised when Thorin ignored his warning against entering Erebor, but Gandalf’s dismissive shrug when reminded of the madness running through the line of Durin had been offsetting. Even getting the Council to try and reason with him had been futile. Saruman was too entranced by the sound of his own voice, and Galadriel was too caught up in a game of psychic footsie with the Grey wizard to care.  
  
In the end, Elrond was not in the least bit surprised to discover that he’d been right all along. Smaug had all but devastated Lake Town, deep-frying nearly half the inhabitants before being shish-kabobed by Bard the Bowman and flattening several more people as he fell to his death. Thorin had gone off the deep end and came frighteningly close to tossing Bilbo off the wall after deciding to go to war over a sparkly rock. Hundreds of Elves, Dwarves and Men were killed by two armies of Orcs that no one believed were coming until they literally came pouring out of the mountain. And, if the rumors were to be believed, a greasy little man with a unibrow managed to escape with all the gold in Dale stuffed into the bosom of his dress.  
  
So, when the invitation arrived requesting Elrond’s presence at Erebor for a big celebration, he wasted no time in packing his bags for the journey. Lindir seemed a bit surprised at how quickly Elrond had accepted, and was met with irritable muttering when he asked about it. “The Dwarves see the reclaiming of Erebor as a ‘great victory’ for their people,” Elrond grumbled, “despite the fact that they did everything I advised against. It’s a miracle the line of Durin still endures.”  
  
“It  _is_  fortunate Thranduil’s Healers were able to be of assistance,” Lindir agreed. “Though I can’t imagine Thorin taking too kindly to being saved by an elf.”  
  
“Which is why I am so adamant on attending,” Elrond replied. “If Thorin doesn’t manage to offend the majority of Thranduil’s party, those nephews of his will.  _Some_ one has to make sure they don’t start another war.”


	2. Talking to the Dead

Erebor was, in a word, creepy, and in a phrase, ominous as fuck. Which was to be expected, seeing as thousands had died violently within the mountain, and a dragon had camped out in the treasure room for sixty years. But the Dwarves had cleaned up nicely, and Elrond was pleased to see that the support beams and ceilings had been repaired. At least he could cross ‘being flattened by falling rocks’ off his list of concerns.

The main halls and rooms seemed cozy enough, especially with the torches hanging in every bracket and fires burning wherever one could be lit. The whole place was still a bit dusty, and the air was on the stale side, but that—as Fíli and Kíli commented when Lindir pointed it out—was nothing to worry about.

As Elrond expected, only the commonly-used areas had been completely refurbished. The kitchens had been top priority, and the sleeping quarters a close second. The dining room had taken a lot of work to repair, and the library was still being excavated to see which books and scrolls could be salvaged. However, the gallery of kings was a sight to behold. The entire floor was pure, solid gold, with what looked like dragon footprints leading down the hall. Fíli and Kíli had been only too happy to recall the tale of how the Company doused the dragon in molten gold. When Elrond shrewdly observed that it must not have worked, Bilbo shot a truly terrifying glare in Thorin’s direction, and the king actually had the decency to look abashed.

“I didn’t see you coming up with any better ideas, Halfling,” Thorin muttered under his breath, and there was a sharp intake of breath from either Fíli or Kíli (Elrond had given up on keeping track of who was who shortly after arriving).

“ _Better ideas?_ ” Bilbo hissed, indignant. “How’s this for an idea: Next time someone is running for the exit with a _dragon_ on his tail, _let him through_  instead of blocking the way with your stupid sword!”

“I’ve apologized for that… indiscretion… more than enough times!” Thorin snapped.

“Oh, great. That’s great. I just _love_ how we’re calling it an _‘indiscretion’_ now!” Bilbo shot back.

“Are we honestly going to fight over words?”

“You’re downplaying things again, Thorin! _That’s_  what we’re fighting over!”

Kíli shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “Master Dwalin says they’ll probably be married within the year,” he muttered. “Can you imagine? Hearing this drivel until one of them finally kills the other.”

“My money’s on Bilbo,” Fíli replied. “He knocked Uncle out cold with one of Bombur’s frying pans the week before last.”

Lindir glanced at Elrond, face a mask of carefully-concealed horror. _“Heria mín dartha anann?”_  he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Fíli seemed to finally pick up on the tension in the room, and mercifully suggested they rest awhile before dinner. Lindir seemed relieved by the idea, and agreed a little quicker than he’d probably intended. But Elrond was only a breath behind him in agreeing, and relaxed slightly as the sound of heated bickering faded behind them. “Do they often fight like that?” Elrond asked casually, and Kíli nodded vigorously.

“All the time,” he said. “Most of us got sick of it after the first week, so we’ve been exploring the mountain.” 

“Anything to get us away from _that_ ,” Fíli added, inclining his head toward the gallery behind them. “Besides, there’s a lot of interesting stuff down in the catacombs.” There was a strange gleam in the prince’s eye as a mischievous smile lit up his face. “It’s _really_ fun going down there late at night.”

Kíli nodded, his face a devious twin of his brother’s. “They say that if you enter the tombs at the stroke of midnight with a white cloth tied over your eyes, you can talk to the dead…”

“…and the dead answer,” Fíli concluded. “We’ve wanted to try it since we got here. Would you like to join us?”

Elrond pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel the beginning of a migraine coming on, and e feeling would probably only intensify in the presence of these two… creatures. “I want you two to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you,” he said slowly. Fíli and Kíli nodded, eyes wide. “There is no way I would _ever_ venture into those catacombs with the intent of _talking to the dead_.”

Kíli’s face fell, and he wrinkled his nose in what could only be described as a pout. “Why not?”

“You really have to ask me that?” Elrond replied. “What is dead should stay dead. Trying to communicate with a being that does not possess a body of its own is not only foolish, but dangerous as well. And I’m sure the last thing your Uncle would want is his sister-sons losing the city he just won to a horde of angry spirits.”

Kíli opened his mouth to argue again, but was silenced by a sharp elbow to the ribs from his brother. “He makes a good point,” Fíli said reluctantly. “Annoying as it is, I prefer Uncle yelling at Bilbo than us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Elvish: "Heria mín dartha anann?" is the closest I could get to "How long do we have to stay here?" I know it's fifty different kinds of fucked up, and I apologize.


	3. Forbidden Books

Ori had fully intended on having the library properly excavated weeks ago. Sorting the books was supposed to be simple: Books in good condition go in Pile A. Books that could be read after some repairs go in Pile B. And books ruined beyond hope of repair go in the fireplace. Ori had been proud when he explained his system to Dori and Nori, but his brothers had just snorted and rolled their eyes.

And now, he could see why. He knew he didn’t have to read every book that caught his interest. A glance at the legible writing would be enough to save it from the fire. And yet, here he was, nose buried in yet another dusty old book, this one concerning a the many uses of blueberries. It wasn’t exactly interesting, and in all honesty was probably someone’s grandmother’s cookbook, but Ori was so engrossed in the proper dough-kneading technique detailed on the page that he didn’t hear the elf behind him until a hand touched his shoulder.

The book flew from Ori’s hands as he scampered under the table with a yelp. “Forgive me,” Elrond said without even bothering to conceal his grin. “I did not mean to startle you.” 

“It’s okay,” Ori said, once his heart stopped trying to escape through his chest. “I just wasn’t expecting any company down here, is all.” He peered at the doorway once more, and relaxed slightly. “Thought you might be Nori again. He’s been down here throwing spiders at me whenever he can get away with it.”

“Nori is busy attempting to lighten Thranduil’s pockets,” Elrond said as he picked up a particularly dusty tome from its shelf, “much to the amusement of your other companions. I believe it has turned into a game of sorts.”

Ori sighed and snapped the blueberry cookbook shut. “If he gets thrown into the dungeons again, I’m going to leave him there.”

“I doubt it will come to that,” Elrond replied. “Thorin and Dwalin seemed entertained by the events.”

“Great,” muttered Ori. “They’re encouraging him.”

Elrond barely managed to bite back a laugh before changing the subject. “I hear you were placed in charge of the library,” he commented idly, flipping the page of his book. “A great responsibility.”

Ori felt his cheeks redden as he got to his feet. “I suppose it is,” he replied, dropping the blueberry book into Pile A. “I’ve been a bit sidetracked lately,” he added guiltily. “So many intriguing books in here. Sometimes I just can’t help myself!” The elf seemed sympathetic to his plight, Ori thought, and the dwarf eagerly indicated the large piles of books on the rickety tables. “I have a system,” he explained. “Books that are in decent condition go on this table. And those that need quite a bit of restoration go on _this_ table.” He indicated the noticeably larger pile of books teetering dangerously on the next table.

“And what do you do with the books damaged beyond repair?”

“Hm?” A large book had caught Ori’s eye. “Dreadful, really. If there’s nothing to be done for them, I just toss ‘em in the fireplace.” He slid the tome out from underneath the splintered bookshelf. “Seems like a strange place for books,” he muttered.

Elrond glanced up from his own book and frowned. “And strange adornments for the cover,” he added. “Why is that book bound in chains?”

“Mithril chains, at that!” Ori commented, blowing on the cover. A remarkable dust cloud shrouded the vicinity, and in the midst of his coughing fit, Ori could hear Elrond’s footsteps approaching.

“What book is that?” he asked.

As the air cleared, Ori squinted at the cover. “It doesn’t say,” he replied. “But it looks like something’s written here…” He rubbed at the cover with the corner of his sleeve, and gradually, words became visible beneath the chains. _“Do not open,”_ he read aloud, _“for to do so would summon unimaginable evil into this world.”_ There was a moment of silence, and then Ori asked “What do you suppose’s in it?” a little _too_ eagerly.

“May I see that for a moment?” Elrond asked, holding out his hand.

“Of course,” Ori said. “Do you think you could open—Hey!” Ori’s shouts of protest echoed throughout the library as Elrond dropped the book into the fireplace. Distantly, almost like wind whistling through a corridor, a faint scream erupted from the flames.

“My apologies,” said Elrond in mock sincerity. “I still seem to be unaccustomed to life in the mountain. Such clumsiness! You must forgive me.”

Ori muttered something that sounded like agreement, and Elrond just rolled his eyes. It was only day one.


	4. The Creature in the Deep (Part 1)

Contrary to what others said, Bifur found the deeper tunnels of Erebor quite peaceful. Not to say that he didn’t understand why so many found the inner depths of the city mildly unnerving: There were still numerous corpses deep within the mountain, and it would likely take years before all of them could be found and buried. And even if there were none in sight, the simple knowledge that so many had perished in those same halls was a harrowing reminder of the devastation Smaug had wrought upon the city.

Though Bifur would never forget that day, and though he knew firsthand the destruction a dragon could unleash, it didn’t stop him from marveling at the intricate beauty of the mountain’s depths. On some days, Bofur would join him, but on days like today, with the mountain full of outsiders who wouldn’t be able to understand him even if he _had_ cared enough to attempt a conversation, Bifur was more than happy to explore on his own.

Which may have been a mistake, in hindsight.

This particular part of Erebor was one of his personal favourites. He wasn’t entirely sure what purpose the cavern had once held, and despite the corpses littering the floor, it was quite beautiful. The gems rooted in the ceilings and walls sparkled as they reflected back the light of his lantern, and the faint whispers of what he could only assume to be an underground river only added to the soothing ambiance.

It truly was a shame that no one was there to share the moment with him. But that could be attributed to the numerous corpses that… wait… that Bifur could have _swore_ had littered the ground the day before.

He raised the lantern a bit higher, eyes scanning the cavern for any clue as to where the corpses had gone. Only five remained tucked in a large crevasse in the southern wall, but the other twelve that had been curled around the well were nowhere to be seen.

Bifur frowned, focusing instead on the old well. The stones had begun to crumble in numerous places, likely from a lack of upkeep, and a generous amount of rat droppings littered the floor around it. All to be expected when a place had sat abandoned for so many years, but Bifur still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… wrong.

Terribly wrong.

And then it hit him. He knew for a fact that no one else had ventured this deep into the mountain (save for Fíli and Kíli, who had been dead-set on exploring the catacombs), let alone into this chamber. _Especially_ not this chamber, seeing as the only footprints he’d encountered on the way in had been his own from the day before, where he’d stumbled through the dirt and rubble covering the floor.

Which explained the ominous feel of the well. More specifically, the long trail leading up to it. The strange absence of dust and debris. The _drag marks_ , he realized with a jolt.

Every fiber of his being told him to run. The beauty and tranquility of the cavern had vanished, and all Bifur could feel was an overpowering sense of dread.

But he had to know. He had to be sure.

Slowly, almost silently, he approached the well and peered down into the depths. Darkness, and the faint smell of water greeted him, and he strained his ears to pick up any sound from below. Nothing. Bifur raised the lantern over the mouth of the well, glancing down once more. More darkness greeted him, but this darkness seemed to have a… texture to it. Scales.

Then a large pair of white eyes opened, and a long, dark appendage shot up from the well, colliding sharply with the dwarf’s hand and sending the lantern tumbling down into the darkness. There was a  _crash_ , and a scream of pain from below, but Bifur was halfway down the hall and well on his way back to the more populated parts of Erebor as soon as the lantern left his hand. Maybe Bofur had been right in calling the caverns "creepy".

In fact, Bifur thought as he ran, 'creepy' didn't quite cut it. Erebor was really beginning to lose its charm. First a dragon, then the corpses, and now a scaly, milky-eyed, tentacled creature living in the water supply when it wasn't feasting on the corpses Smaug couldn't be bothered to eat? He was starting to miss the Blue Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of ideas for this fic, but if you have any horror movie cliches you want to see in this fic, let me know! I'm not that big on horror movies, so there're probably lots of cliches I've never heard of.


	5. The Creature in the Deep (Part 2)

As luck would have it, the first people Bifur encountered upon reaching safety were elves. Very useless elves, at that. All three were quite obviously drunk, and seemed more interested in the axe in Bifur's head than the words coming out of his mouth. Not that they would understand Khuzdul anyways, Bifur realized, and he rolled his eyes as one elf, much more intoxicated than the rest, asked if he could touch the axe head.

 _“Gelek menu caragu rukhs,”_ he snapped, swatting the elf’s hand away as he shoved past the group. There had to be at least one sane and/or sober person in this damn mountain.

The next person he came across was none other than Bofur, who was, mercifully, slightly more sober than the elves down the hall. “What’re you runnin’ for?” he asked with a laugh, and Bifur rolled his eyes.

 _‘I deep in mountain,’_ he signed hastily. _‘you scared to go, I go alone.’_

“I was not scared!” Bofur replied, indignant.

 _‘Yes, you scared,’_ Bifur signed with a cheeky smirk. _‘Not important. Creature. Beast living in well. Scales, white eyes. Eats dwarf corpses.'_

“Well, it’s a good thing we aren’t corpses, isn’ it?” Bofur said with a playful punch to Bifur’s shoulder.

Bifur stared at his cousin, confused. Of all the possible responses he could have gotten, this was not one he expected. _‘You think I lying,’_ he signed angrily. _‘Not lying. Creature dangerous. Eating dead. I lying, why?’_

“Look, Bifur, I get it,” Bofur replied, still grinning. “I’ll go with ya next time. Maybe we’ll see this creature of yours!”

_'This is serious!'_

Bofur’s face turned sobered slightly, and for a second, Bifur was hopeful. “Smaug is dead,” the younger dwarf said finally, and Bifur fought the urge to smother him with his own hat. “Are ya sure you’re alright? If yer seein’ things, maybe ya need to visit Oín. You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

 _'Not stress. Not sick,'_ he signed pointedly. _'I know what I saw.'_ Bifur ground his teeth and, after making an unnecessarily rude hand gesture at his dense cousin, took off running again. Maybe Bofur thought he was teasing, but Thorin wouldn’t. Thorin would believe him, if only because as king, he had no choice. If there was a threat to Erebor, no matter how ridiculous, the king had to investigate!

“You seem troubled, Master Dwarf,” a voice said from a room to his left, and Bifur slowed long enough to recognize the confused face of Elrond staring after him from the doorway.

 _‘No time, find Thorin king,’_ he signed quickly, not caring whether or not the elf lord understood Iglishmêk. _‘Well-creature, dangerous, why bothering try, you understand not me.’_

But to his surprise, Elrond seemed genuinely curious. Unlike the other elves, who simply assumed he was touched in the head by something other than an orc axe. “A creature in the well?” Elrond repeated, frowning. “Where did you hear of this?”

 _‘I see it,’_ Bifur signed, slightly slower than before. _‘Walking deep in mountain. Elves and Men annoying. So I go alone.’_

“Where did you go?” Elrond asked.

 _‘Old cavern. Know not what used for,’_ the dwarf replied. _‘Well in middle of room. Many dead. Yesterday, seventeen, maybe. Today, less. Today, five, maybe.’_

“And no one else has entered that cavern?”

 _‘None. I alone. No footprints,’_ he signed, relaxing slightly in the realization that this elf just might be taking him seriously. _‘Tracks in dirt. Things dragged into well. Corpses dragged.’_

Elrond, to his credit, looked a bit more than mildly concerned. “A creature in the well with a taste for Dwarf corpses,” he mused. “And how long will it be satisfied with corpses before it craves fresh blood?”

 _'Thank you!'_ Bifur signed. _'I thought same. Not safe.'_

“Not safe in the slightest.”

There were no corpses left in the room when Bifur returned with Elrond. But those would be the last ones consumed by the Creature in the Well for a very long time, Elrond thought, as they slid a huge stone over the opening to the darkness below. Once the stone was wrapped in chains and painted with ancient spells of binding and immobility, the two took a step back to survey their work.

 _'Someone someday be stupid and open,'_ Bifur signed, and Elrond rolled his eyes.

“Hopefully that is after both our times, Master Dwarf.”


End file.
